Monkeying Around

yet they're nothing more than fiction. The same goes for certain structures. There have been no reports of a witch's house running through the Russian wilderness on chicken legs, and yet the tale of Bobby Yaga is one that's passed down from generation to generation. But sometimes an item or building jumps out of the story and into reality. In Japan, for example, there's a bridge with a tall tale behind it. About fifty miles from Tokyo in Yamanashi Prefecture is the

city of Otsuki. It's history dates all the way back to the Goman period. Between fourteen thousand and three b c e. The city was nearly wiped off the map in nineteen two days before the end of World War Two, following a bombing by the United States, but it was able to bounce back after two other towns and four villages combined to form a new Otsuki in nineteen fifty four.

Despite hundreds of years of change and turmoil, including near extinction, one of the city's lasting treasures is the Saruhashi Bridge, also known as the Monkey Bridge. It's listed as one of the six official Places of Scenic Beauty in Japan, and those who crossed the gorge know that it's a well earned designation. Although no one knows exactly when the bridge was built, an early military document from fourteen seventy

nine does mention its existence. It is supported by four pairs of cantilever beams underneath, which are embedded directly into the cliff on each side. The beams are also tented with their own peaked roofs to keep the rain and other debris a way, while the actual center of the bridge is held up by an arch Of course, a bridge doesn't wind up in the cabinet of curiosity simply because it's beautiful. No, it's the reason for its nickname that elevates it from a basic way of crossing a

river into an architectural marvel. According to the legend, the monkey Bridge earned its name in one of two ways. The first comes from a story that dates back to the seventh century, which told of a couple who desperately needed to cross the gorge with no bridge in place at the time. Monkeys living in the surrounding forest emerged and used their bodies to form a makeshift bridge so

that the couple could cross safely. A gardener, am Shiracho, watched all of this happen, so he took it upon himself to build a permanent bridge so that others could cross the gorge easily and without any help from the local wildlife. The other tale isn't as romantic, but it does make more sense. Before the Saruhashi Bridge was installed, there was another, more dilapidated structure in its place. It was said to have been so dangerous that the only

creature capable of crossing it was an agile monkey. Whether either of those tales is true remains to be seen, but the saru Haashi bridge is highly revered. It's one of Japan's three unique bridges, and its beauty has inspired numerous paintings over the last two centuries. Japan is rich in history and mythology, and much of its architecture incorporates both.

The truth behind iconic bridges like the Monkey Bridge, though is not as magical as the stories convey, and yet their elegance and composition make them wonders of the world. Beauty and industrial construction don't have to be mutually exclusive. All it takes is a skilled builder, or in some cases, a bunch of monkeys. The bridge the gap between them. When an author dies, we have their books to remember

them by. Mary Shelley wrote numerous novels and short stories, but the work she is best remembered for is Frankenstein, her story of a mad scientist who brings to life a creature made of cadaver parts. Frankenstein has been adapted into countless films and is considered by many as the birth of the science fiction genre. Shelley's legacy is more than just a catalog of literary works, though she paved the way for the films, books, and comics we enjoy today.

Much like Shelley, there was another author whose novels broke ground and influenced those who followed him. Robert Louis Stevenson, the man behind Treasure Island, is why pirate tropes like X marks the spot and parrots on the shoulders are there in the first place. But Stevenson left behind more than his books, and his legacy goes beyond the pirate genre. He practically created. A piece of the author lives to

this day, and one lucky person still owns it. In a twelve year old girl named Annie I'd moved to the island of Samoa in the South Pacific. Her father, Henry Clay I'd, had been appointed American Land Commissioner there by President Benjamin Harrison. While in Samoa, Henry met Robert Louis Stevenson, the author. His wife and her children from her first marriage had moved to the island so Stevenson could recover from the Scottish climate that had been making

him sick. The two men became fast friends. Stevenson was quite involved in Samoa and politics, and advocated for the rights of Polynesians in the press. He wrote letters to various international publication about his concerns for those at the mercy of colonizing countries like England and the United states. He had lived in Samoa since eighteen eighty nine, two years before I'd arrived, and he had seen firsthand the

havoc that great powers were doing to the region. Despite i'd being on one side of the conflict and Stevenson on the other, a friendship bloomed between them. It was during one of their conversations when Henry talked to his friend about some trouble he was having with his daughter Annie. She had been sad because she had been born on December Christmas Day and had never had a proper birthday celebration. The festivities had always been directed towards the birth of well,

someone else. Sure, she received Christmas presents, but she had never felt the joy of opening gifts specifically given to her for her birthday. But on June nine, Annie received the greatest gift of all. It had arrived in the form of an official document delivered to her father. It read, in short, I, Robert Louis Stevenson, have transferred and do hereby transfer to the said a h i'd all and whole of my rights and privileges on the day of

November formerly my birthday. In other words, Robert Louis Stevenson had given his own birthday No. To twelve year old Annie I'd. The contract also directed her to use it with moderation and humanity, and that if she didn't, then the rights to Stevenson's birthday would revert to the President of the United States. The documents also made Annie his

named daughter. She didn't leave her parents or live with him, but Stevenson, in his contract did engage the girl to adopt the name Louisa, at least in private, he added, and she did. She also celebrated November as her birthday for years to come. When she got older, she and her family moved back to the United States, and she eventually married a U. S congressman. A couple didn't have any children, so Annie passed the birthday down to her niece.

The niece held onto it until her death, when it eventually found its way to her granddaughter, Heather fin of Ireland. Heather was born on February four but also pops open

a bottle of champagne every November to celebrate. It's safe to say that Heather will leave the November thirteen declaration to the next in line for now, though Stevenson's memory lives on, not as an author or political agitator, but as someone who just wanted to give his friend's daughter the one thing she had never received a birthday gift. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet

of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Manky in partnership with how Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast, book series, and television show, and you can learn all about it over at the World of Lore dot Come and until next time, stay curious. H